Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Part 3/Chapter 17

Connor Maguire died suddenly, his funeral two days before Christmas. Bellamy attended, with Adrian beside him. Adrian and Connor were age-mates, had been great friends when young, and had kept in touch all their lives. Bellamy was stronger now, and accepted the death perfectly calmly, though it would have been hard for him once. It was a different funeral service than he was accustomed to, with less showy ceremonial than the usual wizard funeral. But there was a lot that was the same.

The baby was due in about five days, according to Esme, who would be coming to stay on Boxing Day. But already, Bellamy was restless and nervous. Pat watched him pacing with amusement. The snow had gone, but it was wet and miserable outside.

"Go visit someone," she finally told him. Bellamy looked up with relief. Of course, he'd do some visiting. It was time he saw Fred and Patrick again. Gareth too. And there were two new babies in his family. He hoped the mothers would let him have a hold.

Once he was gone, Pat told Archie, and Archie called Peter to practise some defence spells. He thought they didn't do nearly enough of that at school. Margaret watched closely, and afterward told her father that he had to give her a wand for Christmas so she could stun a sheep, too. Her father replied that she was only a child, and couldn't have a wand until she was eleven. Margaret's screams of fury at this denial had Caradoc hurrying out of his warm home, in worry that it was an attack. But it was only the little red-head giving uninhibited vent to her anger. Caradoc smiled to himself. All that child had to do was scream at a potential attacker, and they'd probably beat a retreat!

Christmas came, and was celebrated with good food, warmth, and decorations gaudy enough to satisfy even Bellamy's tastes.

Boxing Day, and Esme Rutherford took up residence. Pat thought her husband was being a little silly. When she talked to him, he was able to say that witches were always very well looked after when they had babies. His wives had experienced no problems at all. But he was nervy, and she noticed that he was having far more trembling attacks than he usually did. By now, she knew very well that while an attack or two a day were normal for him, he would also tremble when agitated for some reason, whether or not he pretended he was perfectly calm.

She thought about the problem, and arrangements were made. He only needed to be away a few hours. A message to attend to cure a non-existent pumpkin-head would do the trick.

Esme concurred. The great wizard was known to be high strung. She didn't want him making a nuisance of himself. Events didn't go quite to plan.

Early the following afternoon, Bellamy finished a series of tests on the modified leixtrium. He'd cured the problem of faltering grestles, but it had developed three other problems, all rather worse. He was beginning to think of abandoning the original concept, and starting work on something else to do the same job. It would take some thought. He came back into the empty lounge room, and sat in a chair, still looking at something in his own mind. Automatically, he picked up a book that lay on the coffee table. The uninformative title, 'A Medical Biography.' He read the name of the editor, still without paying any attention. And then he read, 'With the help of the notes of Healer Granger, Healer Weasley, and Healer Breedon.'

His attention was caught, and he re-read that part three times, before turning slowly to the introduction.

His roar of fury, and the crash as he hurled the book at the fire-place brought Pat hurrying, Esme with her.

"What?" asked Pat bewildered.

Bellamy was spluttering about invasion of privacy, and killing Breedon. Esme looked at the book, and went and picked it up from the floor where it lay. Perfectly calmly, she used her wand, said "Reparo," and the broken-backed book was as good as new. "Breedon is long dead," she said, "It's too late to kill him now."

Her level tones were in contrast to Bellamy's shouting. Bellamy took a little more control of himself, but his look was icy. "How did you get hold of confidential medical records?"

"It's no longer confidential if it's on the open market," argued Esme, still calmly.

Bellamy said furiously, "I gave Hermione permission to publish only after my death."

Esme said, "It was published five years after you left. I suppose someone thought it safe enough." And then, raising Bellamy's ire a touch further, she added, "I found it very interesting."

Bellamy spluttered at her, still furious, and then whirled and vanished, as he disapparated to find a place to walk off his anger.

Esme smiled at Pat, who was looking distressed. "We won't need a fake pumpkin-head now, we've probably got a few hours before he cools down."

"He was so angry!" said Pat. "I've never seen him lose his temper like that!"

"He'll forget his temper when he comes home to find a new son or daughter," said Esme, soothingly.

"That book - did you plan on him finding it?" asked Pat.

"No, it was purely accidental - but good timing!"

Pat smiled. "Is it really going to be born soon?"

"Soon!" said Esme. "The babe decides when it's time, but the spells are now starting to take effect."

"There's no pain," said Pat.

Esme touched her hand. "If a patient of mine says Ouch, then I count it a failure."

Bellamy was striding along the streets of London, still furious. So anyone who wanted to know all about his various past illnesses and his current abnormalities, could just buy a book! He hated the thought so much that he had none to spare for Pat or the baby that was due in about three days, as he'd been told. For a little while, he was tempted by the thought of seeking a fight, because he felt like hitting someone, but decided that he was too angry - he wasn't safe.

After a long time, he sat down on a garden seat in a park. It was very cold, and no-one was about. A very thin, scarred mongrel dog sat and watched from a distance. Slowly, it crept closer, flattening itself on the ground when it saw that it had been noticed. Bellamy said softly, "Hello." The dog flattened itself a little more, and slowly, tentatively, wagged its tail.

Bellamy apparated straight into the kitchen, skinny dog in his arms, and made Kitty jump, although the two house-elves didn't turn a hair.

"Food for him," said Bellamy. "He's half starved, poor thing."

Kitty wrinkled her nose at the smell of wet and dirty dog, but provided it with a bowl of food. She hoped Bellamy wouldn't want her to feed it in her clean kitchen every day. But then she looked at Bellamy, and smiled. "It's a little girl!"

Bellamy stared, abandoned the dog, and strode quickly toward his bedroom. The dog looked after him, but gulped down the rest of his meal before following. He'd learned in the course of the last couple of years never to take his eyes off any food that came his way.

Kitty opened the intervening doors for him. If the boss wanted the smelly animal, he could have it in his own area of the house.

"Pat?" he said.

Pat was lying in bed, long body curled around a tiny bundle. Esme watched from a chair in a corner of the warm room, a children's book about dolphins on her knee. She always stayed close for a few hours after the birth, just to make sure that nothing went wrong.

Pat smiled at her husband. Her plain, strong-boned face had a deep beauty of serenity and contentment. "A little girl," she said.

Bellamy gave her a tender kiss, and asked if he could hold the baby. A chair moved itself very close to where Pat lay, and Bellamy gathered the tiny bundle in his arms, and sat close to his wife. The dark eyes of the tiny baby blinked at him. She looked like she knew everything that had ever occurred in the world. Pat watched her husband as he looked at his daughter, and she reached out and touched his face. She suspected he hadn't noticed his own tears.

Esme quietly rose, and left the room, finding a skinny dog pressed against the door. Esme wrinkled her nose, got out her wand, ignored the automatic cringe from the dog, and made a cleaning and deodorising spell. The dog pricked its ears, and touched its nose to its own shoulder. Esme told it to come closer, and made a thorough examination, before healing the cut on the shoulder. One of its paws was injured, as well.

Very quietly, Esme went back into the bedroom to pick up her bag. The little tableau was unchanged. Pat still watched with a tender smile, as her husband's tears ran. Esme's own eyes glistened in sympathy, though she'd presided at many a birth. But she had it from her own mother, who'd had it from her mother - older people were more emotional, and Bellamy was very old.

The dog had many sore spots, many bruises. Esme smeared on lotions, and caressed his soft ears, one of them quite ragged. A spell made sure her own hands were clean again, but she went and washed with soap and warm water as well. Like Bellamy, she never felt quite as clean if one just used magic, and no water.

But it was time to make another thorough check of her patient, and she knocked gently this time. She had to interrupt. Bellamy wiped away his tears, and smiled at the healer. "Thank you," he said.

Esme said sternly, "Well, I've cleaned up your dog, but you have to leave me with Pat for a few minutes while I check her over."

"Dog?" asked Pat.

There was a yowling from the next room, and Bellamy and Esme went to check. It was Pat's cat, glaring and yowling at the strange dog, fur raised. The dog just looked embarrassed. Esme suggested calmly that Bellamy take the baby and the dog, and introduce them around. She would look after Pat.

So the proud father, holding the most beautiful baby in the world, displayed her proudly to Margaret, to the older Barnes, to the house-elves, to Kitty and Sidney whom he found snuggling in a hidden corner, and then tramped across the thin layer of snow to show the old ones, Caradoc, Sybil, and Clare.

The dog trotted close to his heels, and left a yellow puddle in a bit of snow. He'd been a house dog once, and knew that he shouldn't leave puddles inside.

When Bellamy returned and peeped into his bedroom, Esme said that Pat was to sleep for a little, and herself took the tiny girl, and tucked it into bed with her mother. Pat wrapped an arm around the baby, without even opening her eyes. She still wore that aura of uttermost beauty.

Esme was quite sure that Bellamy had totally forgotten his earlier tantrum, but nevertheless, 'A Medical Biography' was kept right out of his sight from then on. She read it through again, though. It really was very interesting.

The baby was called Susan, after Pat's mother. The dog was called Xander, after big, black Alexander, although the dog was middle sized, and light brown. He was devoted to Bellamy, and was at his heels whenever possible. Pat's cat no longer hissed at him, and he made friends with the other dogs around. He looked very dubiously at the horses, as he'd never seen one before, but an old instinct made a resurgence, and he showed a desire to round up sheep, although he'd never seen a sheep before, either.

Pat was as active as ever almost straightaway. She said that everyone should have witch healers in attendance when they gave birth, but Bellamy told her a story of one who'd tried it recently in an American country town. There had been several happy medj mothers, but then a baby had died, which can happen, experienced healer or not. The healer was charged with malpractice, but was murdered before she faced legal action.

Esme was still in residence, but didn't seem needed, as Pat's confidence in mothering seemed to have arrived automatically with her baby. Bellamy thought Esme was wonderful now - all it took was for Esme to say at reasonably frequent intervals that Susan was the most beautiful baby she'd ever helped deliver. Bellamy would beam. Of course, she was!

Bellamy and Pat were invited to several New Years Eve Parties, including a very large affair put on by the Finch-Fletchleys who had now started calling themselves Abercrombie-Finch-Fletchleys. A polite thank you was sent for each invitation, but for security, and as people now expected, Bellamy didn't say whether he'd be going or not.

There was one from the Malfoys, too. Haslett thought the wealth and prestige of their ancient family of pure-bred wizards might just bring Bellamy, who was, after all, of impure blood himself. He didn't say his parents were away. But Bellamy received invitations almost routinely that were traps, and only had Alison send the routine acknowledgment and thanks, with no indication of whether he'd be there or not.

**x**

On the night of twenty-ninth December, Bellamy woke with a jolt. Still stark naked, the great wizard answered the frantic telepathic cry for help of his daughter, Beth. He appeared in her bedroom, just in time to see the fall of the heavy club that took her life.

Beth was dead. Six islanders in her bedroom, most of them with clubs, several bloodstained. Their faces were sweaty, frightened, determined, as they continued to beat the dead body in the bed.

Bellamy gave a shriek of rage and grief. The islanders fell, paralysed. Their bodies were swept to the side as if with a gust of wind, as Bellamy went to the side of his daughter, and touched the bloodied face, tenderly. He caressed her face, and her grimace of pain and fear faded, to be replaced by that customary expression of compassion and serenity that was her hallmark. The blood vanished. He touched over her eyes, and they closed.

More islanders appeared at the door, but fought to escape as Bellamy turned to them. The old forehead scar had blazed into life, as it did sometimes when he fought. A sound began, a great roaring in the atmosphere, almost a scream, like that of a tornado. The attackers tumbled away in front of him, more of the black ones who called themselves warriors, were paralysed. One threw a spear, but the great wizard was surrounded with a glow of sheer power, and the spear fell away from him.

Bellamy walked out the door of the little house that had been Beth's. Two ran before him. Others that had been outside, scattered. And then he just stood a moment, looking in the direction of the village, where men ran to fetch spears, and women and children emerged from houses. The roaring in the atmosphere grew louder and higher pitched. The palms all around should have been leaning to the ground, but there was no wind. An eerie light replaced the darkness of tropical night.

The naked man started walking the track to the village, pausing at each house as he passed. A brief check to make sure it was empty, and the house exploded in flame. One by one, through the village of the island home that had turned on his daughter. Groups of men hurled spears at him. They fell away before connecting.

The great wizard scarcely seemed to notice their presence, just went on methodically destroying the village. He came to a house, but paused as a frantic mother ran inside to grab her baby. He had some mercy, the baby plus three pigs, a bitch and her pups were allowed to escape before the home became a raging inferno.

On to the next one. And the next and the next. At the far end of the village, a frantic knocking disturbed the priest, and he pulled on his clothes. One of the nuns was already up, standing at the door of the small hospital, and looking in the direction of the fires.

"There," said Hutupaea, the black warrior, pointing at the figure that approached.

The priest looked. He could see it was a white man, but it was like a glow surrounded him. The last house before the mission went up in flames, and the devil came toward his church. Bravely, the priest held tight to his crucifix, and went to confront the man.

Bellamy saw him through a red mist of fury. It was the preaching of this man that had resulted in the bludgeoning to death of a wise and compassionate woman. The non-existent tornado howled.

"My church. Please don't destroy my church," the priest said.

Bellamy's voice shook with his fury. "Your church and your preaching destroyed my daughter. Your religion says Let not the witch live! The witch was my daughter, and now she is dead."

He took a step toward the priest, who tried very hard not to retreat. The priest saw that he trembled, and for the first time, noticed he was naked.

Bellamy turned his face to the church. Two nuns stood in the doorway. The doorway frame started to run with flame, enough to frighten. As soon as the nuns were clear, the howling of the non-existent wind increased a little more, and the church exploded into flame, followed by the living quarters of priest, workers and nuns. The only building left standing was the hospital.

"There is a man with a broken leg, plus two malaria cases," said the priest, desperately.

Bellamy looked at the building, and then his gaze searched the surroundings. As he turned back, more spears were hurled, but fell to the ground before connecting. One of the nuns went to the side of the priest. "I guess I've been proven wrong," said Father O'Flaherty, shakily. "Magic does exist."

While the wizard destroyed the village, others tried to go to the help of the black warriors who lay paralysed, only their eyes moving, terror-stricken, beseeching. But the borders of the property were protected. Beth was undisturbed. A brown woman sat close, patient. She was Celia, who'd looked after Beth for many years. She wore a crucifix, had been baptised, but in the crisis, it was to Beth that she was loyal.

Bellamy went back to his daughter, and sat beside her as the sun rose. It was dawn.

Huddles of black warriors stood around, not too close. A priest watched, too. Bellamy paced the borders of the property. Every two yards, a wooden pole appeared. None who lived on Noonga Tuku would be able to cross that open barrier. He noticed Celia, whom he knew. "You may come," he said.

Celia rose from her seat, and went to the woman whom she had idolised. Bellamy frowned at the fallen warriors all around. Their eyes watched whenever he came close. He returned to the house, where Celia tenderly touched the face of her mistress. "Is the god, Noonga, still where he always was?" he asked Celia.

Celia nodded, "No-one goes there now, we're all good Christians."

Six men were piled, uncomfortably, in the corner of the room. They vanished, as Bellamy's glance touched them. He went outside again. Eight more men vanished, and the property was clean. There was a buzz of terror from the watchers outside. He took no notice. There was no longer a howling in the atmosphere, and the morning was sunny.

He selected a spot in the deepest and most overgrown part of her garden. Beth would lie in her own home. Somewhere on Noonga Tuku, her first husband, Jeremiah, was buried. The grave was prepared. Celia tenderly bathed the body. Bellamy finished what needed to be done with his own gentle magic. It was not the first time he'd helped lay out the body of someone he loved. "Her wand?" he asked Celia. Celia went to a cupboard. Beth may have lost her magic many years before, but a witch was always buried with her wand in her hand. Bellamy closed her hand over her wand, and gently pressed the fingers tight. He leaned over and kissed the closed eyes.

At the feet of an enormous stone god, the ancient god Noonga, high up on the mountain, fourteen warriors were finding their paralysis gradually becoming less. Some of them had already managed to get to the clear spring that bubbled at the carved feet of the god. They'd been terrified, and now they were very thirsty.

At the hospital, the only building of the village still standing, the nuns gave shelter to the mothers with small children. Soon the villagers would start rebuilding their own simple homes, as they had before when a tornado passed.

Not too close to the borders of Beth's property, villagers and priest watched. Bellamy ignored them. Just one spear was thrown, but it bounced off where the row of wooden poles marked the boundary. Phoenix song started softly, then began to fill the atmosphere. The priest came as close as he could. There was a flowering shrub next to him. And he blinked as buds grew on new twigs, and flowers opened as he watched. It was happening all over the property.

Bellamy cast a glance around, but allowed the watchers to remain. Beth had once been a tiny, round child who had laughed at nothing and whose days had been filled with happiness. And then she started school, and discovered hatred. It was that same hatred that had killed her, but this island had given her a lot of happiness before they'd turned against her. It had been her home.

Beth was gently put to rest in a grave in her own beloved home. Bellamy sat before her grave, and an enormous stone appeared over it. And over the next half hour, as Father O'Flaherty watched, fascinated, he used his magic to change the stone into an image of his daughter. It sat like a Buddha, robes flowing over a generous body, and with the same expression of wisdom that the best Buddha figures show. And then he just sat in front of it for an hour. Celia sat respectfully, further back.

When he rose to his feet, he looked just like a naked man, tired and sad. No-one threw spears. The ground no longer looked disturbed, and vines and bushes grew closer around the figure. It looked like it had been there for a hundred years. Bellamy's conjures lasted mostly between seventy and eighty years. His Buddha/Beth figure would last a thousand years. None of this generation of villagers but Celia, would ever be able to approach it, although others could.

Back in the little house, he asked Celia whether she wanted to come with him. He thought the villagers might hurt her. Celia declined. Like Beth had said, she said, "This is my home. I will not leave." So he just asked if she wanted to take anything before he made the house go away. Celia nodded, and went to a wardrobe.

Bellamy didn't know the significance of the small statuette she removed, but it obviously meant something to her. "You can call me if you're in trouble," he said, and explained how she could call him.

But Celia only said that she would go to Father O'Flaherty. "He's a good man. He will look after me." And Celia, with dignity, left the small home. She was not molested.

Bellamy moved about the little house himself. There was no will that he could find, but Kate was her only child. Her possessions would go to Kate. A lot of books, a few clothes, little else. Beth had always been happy with a simple life. He sent them home for Kate. And then he emerged from the little house. The priest still watched, a nun beside him. He walked to the statue he'd made, touched it, glanced at the house, and it was gone without trace. A bare area of ground remained, but grass ran across and covered the wounded area with a merciful shield of green. A last look around, and Bellamy was gone.

The priest tried to push forward, but, like it was for all the islanders but Celia, it appeared the area within the boundary was taboo.

At home, Pat was worried. Bellamy had gone without a word. She'd opened her eyes just as he disapparated. Esme was unhappy. A mother should not be disturbed at this time, when the babe needed a calm mother to feed her. Xander rested his chin on the foot of Esme, but leapt to his feet, tail wagging, and gave a delighted yelp. Bellamy was back.

It was mid morning at home, and Bellamy had been gone not quite twelve hours. Pat was in the lounge room, Esme with her. Xander jumped up on him, and Pat went to him and hugged him, and only Esme noticed at first that he was naked. He looked sad and tired, as he sat in a chair, leaving dirt stains.

Esme picked up the sleeping child, and put it in his arms. The baby, just days old, opened her eyes, and smiled at him. Bellamy's eyes prickled with tears, and he cuddled his new daughter a little closer. "There was something they said at Connor's funeral," he said. "In the midst of life, we are in death," and he smiled at his tiny daughter, and said, very softly, "But the reverse is true, too - in the midst of death, we are in life."

There was a silence for a moment, and then Pat asked, "What happened?"

Bellamy said simply, "Beth is dead. They killed her because she was different, and a witch."

Esme was frowning at him. He seemed thin. She remembered something that she'd read in her book - Bellamy lost weight very quickly when he used strong magic. She wondered if the island that had sheltered his daughter for most of her life, was still in existence.

Pat had two questions on the tip of her tongue. He answered them both. "I didn't kill anyone, and I am very hungry."

Pat said calmly, "Well, you'd best shower and put some clothes on, and I'll find you something to eat."

Bellamy started, and glanced down at himself, "Sorry, Esme."

Esme smiled, "I am a healer, you know. I have seen a naked man before."

Esme tucked the baby in her cradle, soothing the beginning whimper, and just touching her wand to the nappy, and it was clean and dry again. It reminded her, and she used her wand to touch the chair that Bellamy had left muddied. She wondered what he'd been doing. It appeared that putting on clothes hadn't been a priority.

When Bellamy reappeared, he still looked pale and tired. He trembled a little, too. Esme frowned at him, and went to her bag. A few minutes later, he was taken by surprise when he was ordered to take a potion.

"No!" he said indignantly. "I'm perfectly all right, and anyway, you're not my healer!"

Esme glanced at Pat. "What is it?" Pat asked.

"Just something to calm away nervous exhaustion," said Esme.

Pat went to her husband and whispered in his ear. He gave an even more ill tempered frown, but took the potion, and Esme smiled. He was still looking irritable though, and when Esme started to say again what a beautiful baby Susan was, he only grumped that he had some messages to send, and went off in the direction of Alison's office.

Esme went for a walk outside, leaving Pat to look after her husband. When Bellamy came back, she asked him if he'd had any sleep, and suggested he go to bed for a while. Her contrary husband denied that he was tired, and quite quickly gave himself the lie when he leaned his head back in his chair, and went to sleep for three hours.

Beth was dead, and Beth was the wonderful old lady who was the first of the wizarding world to show friendship to Pat. But Susan was here, and Pat picked up her sleeping daughter, and cuddled her. Esme had told her. A baby could never have too many cuddles, cuddles were more important than anything. Cuddles were food for the soul.

***chapter end***